


The No Good, Very Bad Day

by fudgernutter



Series: Snips, and Snails, and Undertales [3]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Anxiety, Depression, Gen, Implied/Referenced Sexual Harassment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-02
Updated: 2016-05-02
Packaged: 2018-06-05 20:52:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6722914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fudgernutter/pseuds/fudgernutter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I am sorry.</p><p>I had the next chapter of And Again planned out but I had a No Good, Very Bad Day myself and this worked out much better in comparison.</p><p>So for anyone who else has a bad day, I hope this helps.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The No Good, Very Bad Day

It’s a no good, very bad day.

It started out well enough, of course, but by the end you were ready to murder someone or cry. You weren’t sure. Maybe both.

You had gotten up on time, made it to work, and even put a full productive day in. But you were slammed with phone calls and had to deal with the most rude and asinine people ever. Work had piled up quickly, and even though you stayed a half hour later to try and make a dent in it, you knew that tomorrow was going to be a real winner. Add in your anxiety with a nice panic attack, mix well with the old douchey ex who had decided that today was a good day to send you a lovely dick pick and shake well. Garnish with rain and bad traffic on top.

Perfect.

 

When you got home Sans knew that you weren’t okay. 

You hadn’t been living together for longer than a couple months but Sans had very easily picked up on a lot of your habits. Sans had been a scientist and he was pretty observant. He had noticed your over anxious behaviour. Biting your nails or the skin around them, weird eating habits, days when you would lock yourself in your bedroom and come out looking worse than before. You never directly told him or Papyrus, but you really didn’t need to.

Papyrus had lived with Sans and his own crippling depression to know when you needed to leave someone alone and when you needed to help someone to cope. And Sans could easily look at the condition of your soul if he really needed, a thing that he could do before his sciency days, but he’s gotten so good at just reading the turn of your mouth and the slump of your shoulders that he doesn’t even have to worry about using that anymore. Okay, he still does worry, but he knows the calm, soothing joy of milkshakes now so he’s gotten a lot better.

Still, when you walk in, Papyrus welcomes you home and Sans gives you a lazy wave. You don’t respond to either than with more than a small grunt and instantly walk down the hallway to your small bedroom. Normally the gruff response would be enough to set him off, but he notices your stiff shoulders, tucked head, and suspiciously glassy eyes. He just shoots Papyrus a look, one that says “not a good day”, and lets you go your own way. It’ll be another hour till dinner and hopefully you’ll be feeling good enough by then to come out.

Sans accidently falls asleep and is only awoken by Papyrus gently prodding him on the skull to go grab you from your room. It’s not that Papyrus wouldn’t do it, but they both found out the hard way that even though you love Papyrus (as a friend) and his silly antics, being in the middle of an anxiety attack and having Papyrus come bursting into your room at top volume ends in nothing short of disaster. (Sans would never forget when that happened… It had been a learning experience for all parties involved.) Sans nods, wiping sleep from his eye-sockets and plods slowly down the hall to stop in front of your door. He quietly knocks before opening the door to pop his head in. 

“You comin to dinner, bud?”

You’re curled up on the corner of your bed. You don’t answer, just sniffle and shake your head. Sans feels worry lace his soul and takes a moment to examine yours. Your soul is always vibrant. A nice emerald color, showing kindness and integrity as your main Aspects. It’s always been cracked too, or at least for as long as he’s known you, which isn’t uncommon to find in humans and monsters who have been through rough times. 

But today your soul is off color, a more sickly green compared to its normal vivacity. The cracks show a little bit brighter than normal and it pulses slowly, weakly, almost as if it’s dying… To be honest it makes him panic a little bit.

“You sure you’re okay? Do you want a milkshake or something?” He hopes the milkshake trick works. It almost always works.

But instead you shake your head again and Sans bites his metaphorical tongue. Well… he has a tongue but he doesn’t always need it… Actually he’s not even sure why he’s even thinking of this right now. He closes the door with a soft click and he leaves you alone while him and his bro eat dinner.

 

An hour or two passes and the plate of spaghetti they saved for you has gone cold. Papyrus keeps giving him particular looks, and even Sans’s worry is moving straight to distress. So he nukes the plate, pours a shit tonne of parmesan on it (just how you like, he remembers) and shuffles back to you room.

He knock before entering again, but this time waltzes in. “com’on now kid. you can’t just sit in here forever.”

“Can and will,” he hears you grunt out. He can tell from the sound of your voice that you’ve been crying. Shit. He isn’t good with crying. 

But he places the plate on your desk and sits next to the lump that is you on the bed. He’s like… ninety percent sure you haven’t moved since he’s seen you last. It really can’t be comfortable.

“do you… do you wanna talk about it?”

“No.”

It’s quiet for a while. He’s kind of at a lost here. Milkshakes didn’t work, talking didn’t either. Okay? Now what? Should he… should he initiate contact?

He fidgets for a second before placing a large hand to your back. He feels you stiffen, but he doesn’t remove it, instead gently rubbing back and forth. He can feel the tightness of your muscles through your work shirt. He feels pretty awful… is he even helping? He wants to try. You do the same thing for him all the time.

“ya know… you don’t have to ever talk to me about it… but i’d listen.”

“How can you listen when you don’t have ears?”

It takes him by surprise, but when he realizes you’ve made a pun, he can’t help the rolling laughter that escapes him. He peeks at your soul and sees it’s a little bit brighter than before and he can’t help but to be proud that he did that. He made you feel better.

“you got me there bud, but the offer still stands.”

He watches as you uncurl yourself, joins cracking in that mysterious human way of yours, and sit up next to him. Your eyes are red and your face is splotchy but you are up and Sans knows from personal experience that getting up is half the battle. He watches as you smile weakly at him.

He gives you a reassuring grin in return, “hey, spaghetti is on your desk if you-”

He doesn’t finish his sentence because he finds himself wrapped up in you… literally. Your arms are around his chest and your face is buried into the fluff of his hood. He can’t fight the blush that overcomes his skull, but he returns your hug, even if he is a little unsure about it.

“Thanks Sans. Just… Thanks.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm open to taking suggestions for this series. If you have any please send them over to my tumblr at fudgernutter.tumblr.com


End file.
